


Fiddler in the Room

by Its_Just_Chemistry



Series: Sherlock & Watson on Baker Street [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8689150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_Just_Chemistry/pseuds/Its_Just_Chemistry
Summary: It's a morning in the apartment on 221 Baker Street, and Watson finally gives Holmes a piece of his mind about that stupid violin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Missing the deadlines! I know, I'm sorry. I'll get back to a good schedule though, eventually. Hopefully. Still, hope you enjoy.
> 
> Characterization is off, sorry.
> 
> Hope you enjoy :)

Holmes watched intently at his every move; he was tired, it seemed. The best approach would be to sweep the legs. As he's falling forward, send a round kick to the ribs. He'd probably fall unconscious due to a combination of the impact and his sleep deprived state-

"Holmes," John warned, "I swear to God, I'll kill you—and I mean, literally kill you—if you dare move even an _inch_ from that couch."

"Oh relax, Watson. I'm merely using the sight of you to practice my mental capabilities," Holmes tapped the wooden surface of his violin, "speaking of which, might I say you look quite _lovely_ this morning Watson. What, with your tussled hair and baggy eyes—gorgeous! Just, _beautiful_."

The doctor grumbled rather loudly, clearly not in the mood for Sherlock's sarcastic humor. Holmes smiled, mouthing a sincere apology in the process. He knew how stressed John could be in the mornings, and so he was more than grateful when the man had just huffed—a sign that John had forgiven him for his behavior.

"Well go find someone else to practice on," Watson shuffled to the door with a cup of tea in his hand, "your awkward staring is getting...well, awkward. And I'm too tired to deal with you and your manic self right now."

"What of the part where you're going to kill me?" Holmes questioned, before he started to pluck the strings to his violin. The action earned him a glare from Watson, though the detective pretended like he hadn't seen it and kept on with plucking the strings.

John grumbled, "Another time, I suppose."

Sherlock hummed with amusement, as he continued to pluck the violin. Even though he was occupied with the instrument, he was still able to notice Watson as he walked over and sat down beside him.

"It's a beautiful instrument," he whispered, "it's too bad you make it sound so horrid."

"Ah," Holmes turned to face John in their close proximity, "it appears you have hurt my pride, Watson."

"Well, I'll have you know that I happen to find that to be a _good_ thing." John blurted out, before scooting closer to Sherlock.

"Once again," Holmes placed his hand on his heart, "you've hurt me deeply, Watson."

John rolled his eyes, "Just play something nice for a change. And maybe," Watson handed a certain tool to his companion—which he had been somewhat annoyed to have found on the ground— "you should use the bow for once. _Apparently_ , it's used to make the instrument sound _good_."

"My Watson, quite a bit of attitude you have in you today."

Watson gave a curt, yet tired nod, "I suppose it's because of your horrible instrument playing. Keeping me up all night, every night...honestly, it sounds more like a dying cat than a violin when you play it."

"Hm. Maybe I should take up fiddling then," Holmes muttered.

"Oh for Heaven's sake, please don't," Watson whined, "you're bad enough as it is."

Holmes looked to his companion for a moment before turning back to his violin, "Why don't I play you a song then."

"A song?"

"Yes, a song. Who knows," Holmes looked to Watson once more, "I might even make it a ballad."

Sherlock plucked the strings to play a certain melody, and to Watson's surprise, it actually sounded...kind of nice. Really nice, in fact.

Soon a gentle tune filled the apartment, and even Mrs. Hudson on the downstairs floor had started to listen. It was beautiful improvisation, in Watson's opinion. So beautiful in fact, that it was actually starting to lull him back to sleep. He tried in vain to fight off the sudden urge to drift off into a slumber, but alas ended up succumbing to his desire to rest, closing his eyes as the song continued to play. He rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, and perhaps if he'd stayed awake for a little longer, he would've heard Holmes start to sing a few verses to go along with his playing.

By the end of the song, Holmes had gone from singing to humming, and after a few more moments the song came to an end. Sherlock sighed, clearly satisfied with how he had done.

"What do you think of that John?" Holmes smiled at his companion's sleeping figure, "I call it, the _Ballad of Watson_. I think it'll make the top of the charts in a month or so, don't you?"

Holmes chuckled as Watson let out a resounding snore, then placed his head on top of John's.

"Sleep tight, Watson."

 

 


End file.
